


Only Love Can Hurt Like This (must have been a deadly kiss)

by DreamsAreMyWords



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 2x14, 2x15, Angst, Betrayal, Clarklexa - Freeform, Clexa, F/F, Grounder!Clarke AU, Mother!Lexa AU, Pain, and they will be all over parts 4 and 5, bodyguard of lies, fake dating au, kiss, though all the au bits won't come in until part 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 23:27:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4456583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamsAreMyWords/pseuds/DreamsAreMyWords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Events leading up to the end of 2x15. Lexa falling for Clarke, then letting Clarke fall.<br/>Part 1 in the Clexa Riptide series (Fake Dating AU,Mother!Lexa AU, and Grounder!Clarke AU).             </p><p>     "She doesn’t mean to. It just happens. At least, that’s what Lexa tells herself, as she traces her digits through the soft curls at the back of Clarke’s neck, as she presses her lips softly, tenderly, against Clarke’s. She swears birds sing when Clarke parts her lips and kisses her back.<br/>Inexplicably, Lexa thinks of stars, of spectrums filled with bright orbs of pointed light, shining in stark contrast against an otherwise bleak, dark sky. Then again, Clark is from the Sky. It makes sense that, when kissing her, Lexa would think of it.<br/>She has always thought of the sky. Lately, it seems like it is all she thinks about."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Love Can Hurt Like This (must have been a deadly kiss)

**Author's Note:**

> If you wish to read this in the form of a one-shot with an alternate, happier ending, it's called Of Stars and Earth.
> 
> This beautiful art is by ladyilena on Tumblr.

"I tell myself you don't mean a thing,  
And what we got, got no hold on me  
But when you're not there I just crumble  
I tell myself I don't care that much  
But I feel like I die 'til I feel your touch"

* * *

                                                            

             For her people, the skies have always been a source of contention. Once upon a time, long before Lexa had been born, the First Grounders would grow angry with those who looked up to the sky.  _Never look where traitors lie,_  they used to spit, before cleaving heads with their makeshift war axes. At least, that is what the elders claim happened, though sometimes Lexa does not believe them, for they are the ones she catches gazing up at the stars the most often.

            For Lexa herself, the skies are a curiosity. When Costia was still alive, her favorite pastime was to sneak out to a clearing in the forest, to curl up naked together on a thin blanket with limbs tangled and to hold one another close while they gazed up at stars winking across the sky, pressing smiles along one another’s flushed skin between making the other laugh with absurd claims that they could see Sky people walking across the surface of the moon. That was back when Anya was alive and Lexa was still in training. That was before she became the Commander, and from then on the only privacy she and Costia could get was in their tents.

            Pain threatens to create a lump that will obscure her throat, so Lexa closes her eyes and pushes it out of her mind. Costia has been gone for over a year.  _Love is weakness_ , she reminds herself. She does not need it. There are more pressing matters at hand, such as the everlasting tyranny of the wretched Mountain Men. Too many of her people have been lost to them. Too many of her people are still lost inside the mountain. It is her birthright, her duty to save them, to defeat the enemy that threatens them all. Blood must have blood. She knows that.

            So why is that not at the forefront of her mind?  
 

///

            Standing flanked by four guards, Lexa lingers before her tent, waiting. She is no longer sure what she exactly she is waiting for. A miracle, perhaps. For a stranger to succeed in something so many have failed at before him; the one man in whom Clarke Griffin has put all her faith to save them all. Lexa’s eyes shift up to glance at the blonde Sky leader who sits before another fire across the encampment.  _That_ is what has been at the forefront of her mind. Or rather,  _who_   _is_.

            It’s infuriating, it’s despondent, but like it or not, Lexa cannot lie to herself—Clarke Griffin consumes her every waking thought. Lexa can’t pinpoint the exact moment it began. It could have been when Clarke begged for mercy for the murderer she was in love with, and then took a knife to him in the same breath. Perhaps it was when she stared so defiantly back at Lexa before she lifted a bottle that very well could have been poison to her lips and drank from it. It may have been when the two of them faced Monaw, when Clarke defied Lexa’s every expectation by saving her life, or it could have merely been the first time Clarke approached her and Lexa found herself unable to avert her gaze from a captivatingly beautiful face—either way, the Commander knows that she needs to be concentrating on the war that threatens her people, not the unpredictable, mysterious, intriguing Sky woman. It’s dangerous. Lexa knows that.

            And yet she can’t get her out of her fucking head.

             _That_ is maddening.      

///

            Clarke glances at her twice.

            Lexa knows she shouldn’t be counting, or even thinking about that.

            This is no time to smile. This is the middle of a war. Two hundred and fifty of her people had died two days ago. The Mountain Men could attack at any moment. She and her warriors are waiting on a sign, a signal that tells them to push onwards. It is no time to be happy over such trivial, childish things.

            Still. Lexa can’t help the small smile that tugs at the corners of her lips when she watches through the flickering flames as Clarke’s eyes dart across the camp to meet hers.

///

            Octavia knows. How many more will now, before the sun breaks the horizon?

            Secrets are dangerous. Lexa’s people do not suffer chance. They take fate into their own hands and secure their own safety, regardless of the cost.

            It is more than a shame; Octavia has been taken under Indra’s wing—Indra will be angry, but she will understand. This is war. Lexa can trust Indra. She cannot trust the Sky warrior, even if there is Clarke Griffin assuring Lexa she can be trusted. Lexa wants to believe her, but this isn’t a time to take those kinds of chances, and as much as it aches her heart—because lately, any time Clarke had to suffer pain, it hurt Lexa’s heart—there is nothing else to do.

            Clarke will not be happy, but some things have to be done. This is war, after all.

///  
  
             _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

            Those are among the many expletives and thoughts running through Lexa’s mind. She is bent over double, propped up on her arms on the drawing table. The table that, moments ago, Clarke had backed her up against.

            Most Grounders would be surprised at Clarke’s tenacity, at the way this young Sky girl can stand so tall, shoulders back, her fierce gaze burning. Not Lexa. Lexa has been watching Clarke closely since the moment they met—before that, even. This Sky leader’s soft face, gentle smile and fine blonde hair were misleading. Clarke is not soft, not weak. She is fierce, a leader, a warrior at heart, a protector of her people. No, Lexa is not surprised at the fact that Clarke Griffin dares to invade her personal space, dares to advance on her while harshly reminding her off all the things she made such an effort to deny to herself, even. The only thing about it all that surprises Lexa is her reaction to it.

            Lexa has known she is attracted to Clarke. One would have to be a fool not to be—she was beautiful, passionate, with a strong heart and a fierce soul. She had already proved herself to be an admirable leader, and in the face of potential death, did not even seem afraid. Of course Lexa is attracted to her. But she hadn’t known she is _this_ attracted.

            It has been harder, as of late, to stop herself from…noticing. She often finds herself startled, quickly averting her gaze upon realizing she has been staring at the Sky Leader for just a little too long, with just a little too much intensity. Had Clarke been any other person, Lexa may have left her there in that village to burn. It would have been easier, after all. Far easier for a secret to be kept if it was only kept by a single person. But the mere thought of knowing that Clarke was going to die—Lexa couldn’t. So she took her with her. She saved them both.

            It had already been a difficult day. Lexa is tired, her arm still ached from the wound inflicted during her escape from Monaw, and it is these times more than any that she craves peace. She can never admit it to anyone, because the Commander is supposed to be ruthless, unfeeling and strong. Yet inside, Lexa is disappointing herself. Because more than anything, she wants the quiet. She wants no wars, no more of her people dying. A quiet dinner around a fire, and Clarke. She wants Clarke. Damn her for it, but she wants Clarke, and she wants her slowly, tenderly, even if sometimes her stomach goes tight and her eyes glaze as thoughts of throwing her down on the cot and taking her roughly from behind explode in her mind. She wants her, but the most conflicting aspect of it is, she wants more than just her body.

            So when Clarke Griffin dares to call her out, dares to walk into her space, dares to challenge Lexa, Lexa is distracted. She should stand strong, she should frighten Clarke. Lexa shouldn’t let Clarke get her so…unbalanced. Yet her fear and desire overcome her, and she backs away from Clarke, desperate to put space between them, aware that Clarke surely must not feel the same way, that it is only Lexa who is haunted by such inappropriate thoughts, that it’s only Lexa who feels as though the temperature in the tent has risen thirty degrees, only Lexa who wants nothing more than to silence Clarke with her lips on hers.

            Clarke advances and Lexa has no choice but to back up until the table is blocking her escape, and she barely contains the whimper at the mere thought of she, Clarke, and that table in another situation—but then Clarke is right there, voicing aloud Lexa’s worst thoughts and there is nowhere for Lexa to run, nowhere to hide, and then suddenly the truth is spilling from her lips before she can stop it.

            “Not everyone.”

             _Too late_.

            “Not you.”

            She can see the comprehension form in Clarke’s eyes, can see her connect the dots. If Lexa weren’t so terrified, she would be relieved. The truth was finally out.

            But before Clarke leaves, Lexa notices. She is always watching Clarke, so she notices things.

            Lexa notices Clarke’s eyes dart down to lips, momentarily. She notices the slightest crease between her brows, the heated curiosity that flashes, just briefly, across her eyes.

            Maybe Lexa is not as alone in her feelings as she thought.

///

            “Maybe life should be about more than just surviving….don’t we deserve better than that?”

            “Maybe we do.”

            She doesn’t mean to. It just happens.

            At least, that’s what Lexa tells herself, as she traces her digits through the soft curls at the back of Clarke’s neck, as she presses her lips softly, tenderly, against Clarke’s. Her heart is pounding, her breath uneven, her mouth dry and her head spinning, but she clutches onto sanity as she tips her mouth against Clarke’s. This may be her only chance. She has to do it right. She is not a weak, inexperienced, fumbling adolescence. As much as she wants to stagger into Clarke, to wrap her arms around her and kiss her as hard as the insistent tightening of her stomach and heat pooling between her legs urges her to do, she resists. She keeps the pace so slow, so gentle. Plump lips envelop first Clark’s bottom lip, then her upper. Her tongue seems extra sensitive, eager, perhaps, to taste, but she sustains the softness.

            She swears birds sing when Clarke parts her lips and kisses her back.

            Inexplicably, Lexa thinks of stars, of spectrums filled with bright orbs of pointed light, shining in a stark contrast against an otherwise bleak, dark sky. Then again, Clark is from the Sky. It makes sense that, when kissing her, Lexa would think of it.

            She has always thought of the sky. Lately, it seems like it is all she thinks about.

///  
  
             “I’m sorry. I…I’m not ready…to be with anyone.”

            Lexa’s heart thuds, echoing painfully inside her. Her stomach drops.

            “Not yet.”

             _Not yet._

            Just like that, her heart restarts, thrumming so rapidly she is surprised she doesn’t create sparks.

             _Not yet._

            Her insides are squirming in glee, but she forces herself to remain calm, to hold her breath. She blinks slowly, nods, and manages to catch a hold of her lips before they stretch into an ear-to-ear grin.

            The horn sounds, shouts ring through the air, and suddenly the world returns to what it formerly was: something that didn’t feel quite right.

///

            Lexa loses count of how many Mountain Men and Reapers she runs her swords through. When Gustus was alive, they used to keep track and make a game out of it, a friendly competition. It has become habit for her. But during this battle, she isn’t concentrating on her number. She’s concentrating on killing whoever stands between she and Clarke; of course, she never imagined she would be the one standing between them soon. Her sword is soaked in blood by the time she reaches the _Maunon_ who promptly places his gun on the ground, lifting his arms high in a sign of surrender. There is a slight curve to his lips, a smirk that ignites white-hot fury in Lexa. So many of her people have died because of people like _him_. So many innocent children have lost their loved ones to this; _she_ had lost loved ones to this. She is already lifting for the deathblow when the words he utters cause her to halt.

            “If you want to save all your people, then you better listen up. We have a deal for you, Commander.”

///

            Lexa should have anticipated this.

            She was a leader. She’d had to make deals like this before. She should have known this was a possibility.

            She walks down the hill with the mountain man beside her, struggling to maintain an impassive, blank expression on her face but sure that her eyes are wide, almost stricken at what had just happened. Dread fills her limbs with every step. She can see blonde hair in the distance. She feels sick.

            She holds her head high while her heart fissures in her chest.

///

            “You made the right choice, Commander.”

            She wants to drag her sword point down his body and split him open head to toe, wants his insides spilling out onto the ground while he chokes and goes limp. She wants his blood, and she has not wanted blood like this since Costia’s head had arrived in her tent on that winter’s eve almost two years ago. She wants him dead and she wants Clarke alive. She wants it more than anything she can ever remember wanting.

            But she is Heda. And Heda’s wishes are nothing, nothing compared to the lives and souls of her people.

///

            “I made this choice with my head and not my heart. The duty to protect my people comes first.”

 

///

            “I’m sorry Clarke.”

            She knows it means nothing. Nothing, especially when Clarke’s eyes are filled with the numb shock Lexa feels inside. The hurt, the betrayal—it is tradition for Lexa and her people to wear scars, remnant of their kills, and she knows, in this moment she knows, that the greatest scar will be the one Clarke is inflicting in her right now, with that hurt and betrayal in her eyes. _I’m so sorry._

            Lexa cannot say the things she wants to say. She is Heda. She is not a person, not human, just an empty vessel that holds the soul of the protector. Nothing matters but her people.

            It would be easier telling these lies to herself if Clarke wasn’t standing before her, if that trembling lip weren’t the same lip Lexa had kissed yesterday. If she wasn’t certain she is leaving Clarke to her doom.

            Still, a tiny, impossible flame of hope flickers within her. She swallows, so sick with herself that she cannot bring herself to stop the tear that rolls down her cheek to mix with sweat and blood and war paint.

            “May we meet again.”

            She walks away. No words can describe how she feels right now, so she doesn’t think. She just walks, her heart cracking apart within her chest like decaying flowers crumbling into dust.

* * *

 

"Say I wouldn't care if you walked away  
But every time you're there I'm begging you to stay,  
When you come close I just tremble.  
And every time, every time you go,  
It's like a knife that cuts right through my soul."

-Only Love Can Hurt Like This by Paloma Faith.

 


End file.
